


Surcease of Sorrow

by Volavi



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Relationship, Romani Dick Grayson, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, passing reference to Nightwing 93, platonic superbat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 04:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12357192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volavi/pseuds/Volavi
Summary: Everyone has two living animal tattoos that move across their skin, full of personality and energy. One tattoo represents your soul, and the other the soul of your destined soulmate. When you touch your soulmate for the first time, the animals react in joy and celebration, and a soulbond springs into place, linking you forever.Jason and Dick each have a raptor and a black bird.The first time Jason and Dick touch, nothing happens.Can destiny ever be wrong? More than a decade later, Nightwing and Red Hood get in a fight in a warehouse. Destiny might not be done quite yet.





	1. A Kiss with a Fist

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my entry for the Soulmate Day for jaydickweek 2017, but the idea got bigger while my life suddenly got crazier and my free time shrank. 
> 
> Warnings are in the tags. 
> 
> Thanks to leap-of-faith for the trouble-shooting, brainstorming and support.
> 
> Translations for the Romani words are in the end notes.

Burning, crawling pain woke Dick up, like a buzzing bee was dragging its stinger around Dick’s skin while walking up and down his arm. The owie got worse when he moved, so he called for his mother. “ _Daj . . . daj_.”

In seconds she was there, just steps away in the larger bunk of the trailer, and his father too, large rough hands soft on his back, smaller but still calloused hands smoothing the hair back from his forehead, then a warm puff of air as a kiss was dropped to his face.

“What’s wrong, _gugli_?” his mother asked.

“Hurts.” Dick shoved the sleeve of his favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pjs up and shoved his left arm at his parents. His daddy turned on the light with a click, and the three of them gazed at Dick’s arm. Where clear, soft skin had been at bedtime, a black shape fluttered.

“It’s your soulmate tattoo,” Dick’s daddy said. The bed creaked as he sat down next to his son.

Mommy gasped. “ _Múndro!_ Let’s see.”

The three of them peered at his small forearm. The wiggling, fluttering lines of the tattoo were still blurry - full clarity and detail wouldn’t arrive until mid or late puberty, and colors even later - and surrounded by angry red skin, but the tattoo was clearly that of a dark bird.

“A blackbird?” Dick said, frowning at the restless shape. Daddy and Mommy sang him a lullaby about a singing blackbird. Daddy said a group of bugs or beetles sang it first, which confused Dick but always made him giggle.

“A crow, or a starling, or a raven. It’s too early to tell. Maybe even a grackle,” Daddy said.

Dick wrinkled his nose. He’d never heard of that kind of bird and it sounded made up. “Is not!”

“It’s beautiful. Another bird for my little bird,” Mommy said, petting the four-year old’s hair.

“Where is your hawk, _drágo_?” Daddy shifted on the bed as Dick jumped to his feet on the mattress, lifting up his shirt with his right hand to show off his own tattoo - the one representing his own spirit. A juvenile hawk, still fluffy and soft, had his head tucked under his wing along Dick’s ribs, but at the scrutiny shifted, looked at them, and then hid his head again. Dick now had two bird tattoos - his own soulmark of a hawk, and the new blackbird or crow that represented Dick’s soulmate.

Mommy chuckled. “Your hawk is not too impressed, but don’t worry. One day, he will be.”

“So we know your soulmate is about four years younger than you. That’s fine - your mother and I aren’t the same age either.” Daddy’s red panda tumbled down his bicep towards Mommy, while her lemur, visible on her shoulder next to the strap of her nightgown, stirred and sat up.

“Is today my soul mate’s birthday?” Dick asked with eyes wide with wonder.

“Not today, no,” Mommy answered. “Babies are usually at least a few months old, sometimes even a year, before the mark appears. Then their mark shows up on their soulmate, and usually there’s another delay. Seems like the tattoo artists of fate don’t move very quickly.”

Daddy chuckled. Dick didn’t quite get the joke, but focused on the important part of his explanation. His soulmate was probably still a tiny baby, which meant that . . .

“I’m the oldest! Does that mean I’m gonna be bigger?”

Daddy’s low chuckle filled the small space a second time. “Maybe, _shav_. But only if you start eating your broccoli.”

“John!” Mommy said in a scolding town, but then laughed and hugged Dick close. “And your protein. Acrobats need strong muscles.”

Dick stuck out his lower lip and looked up at his parents with big, limpid eyes. “It still hurts a little.”

“Oh, my robin, it will for a few days.” She gave a soft kiss to the skin next to the inflamed tattoo. “Would you like to sleep with us for tonight?”

Dick nodded his head solemnly. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Daddy gave the little snort that meant he was trying not to laugh. Dick glared at him. Daddy immediately looked more serious, but a twitch of his lip gave him away. “Of course you can, _drágo_.”

Dick studied Daddy for a moment before deciding that Daddy was taking this seriously enough, even if not quite as seriously as he would like. “It’s just so you don’t worry about me, cuz my arm hurts and maybe you’d be worried I wouldn’t sleep good.”

“Such a clever boy,” Mommy said. “And so sweet, thinking about his parents.” Her voice sounded like light and laughter.

So Dick ended up snuggled between his parents in their bunk, nestled in the warm valley between their large, strong bodies, surrounded by the scent of chalk and makeup remover and the sounds of slow breathing. His new blackbird tattoo hopped awkwardly up his arm - too young to fly, even in living ink - to sleep on his chest, above his heart. Dick felt more than saw his hawk settle on the right side of his chest, near the blackbird but not touching. Dick knew that your soulmark always slept on the right, while the bondmark slept above the heart. Daddy put his big arm over Dick’s side and hugged him close. Mommy’s breath tickled his nose.

It’s a memory he hangs on to, later.

 

*****

After his parents fell, Dick’s birds picked their feathers and stayed close to their usual spots on either side of Dick’s breastbone, listless and quiet. When they weren’t plucking at their feathers, they sat with the feathers fluffed and heads hunched.

But just as Dick’s own irrepressible nature slowly recovered, so did the birds. The hawk loved to fly just as much as Dick did, and Dick loved to wear tank tops so he could watch it soar from his hand, up his arm, across his shoulders, and down the other arm. There was something mesmerizing about the way its wings would beat a few times, powerful and almost slow, then it would glide, wings still, primary feathers spread wide. Sometimes the hawk would spiral across his back or chest, soaring on invisible air currents, before tucking its wings and diving towards imaginary prey. The hawk also liked to perch on Dick’s elbow if he was in short-sleeves or his neck if he wasn’t to watch the world with gimlet eyes. The crow, while more reticent and cautious, also seemed to enjoy spying on whatever Dick or the hawk was doing.

Like the juvenile hawk, Dick was super curious about everything in his new life, especially the soulmarks and soulmates of his new family. Baking with Alfred was the perfect chance to ask questions - the butler would never leave Dick alone with a hot oven.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, pouring the chocolate chips into the measuring cup. “You’re telling me that Bruce’s soulmark is actually a bat?”

“Indeed, Master Dick.”

Dick giggled. “He must have to keep that a secret, so no one gets suspicious.”

“Yes he does. Good thing he’s bonded to someone who already knew both identities.”

“Who?”

“Master Clark, of course.”

Dick grinned as so many things snapped into place - Superman and Batman’s excellent relationship, even though to an outsider it might seem like Batman barely tolerated Superman, Dick knew that they were great friends. Superman’s endless patience for the grumpy bat. The way Batman’s mouth would sometimes curve into a half-smile around Superman. One thing puzzled him.

“But I thought that Uncle Clark was dating the other reporter, and Bruce and Miss Selina . . .” his voice trailed off, not sure he had the vocabulary to describe Bruce and Selina’s relationship, and definitely not Batman and Catwoman’s.

“Master Bruce and Master Clark are platonic soulmates. They have the bond - and I do believe that feeling each other’s emotions has helped over the years more than it has distracted them - but they aren’t involved romantically.”

Dick wasn’t sure he knew what platonic meant, but he thought he could understand. “Does that mean that Bruce has Uncle Clark’s bondmark?”

“Admirable deduction. It’s a Kryptonian bird, and caused his dear parents and Master Bruce himself quite a bit of consternation, as no one could identify it as any bird on Earth.”

“I bet that really annoyed Bruce,” Dick giggled.

“Quite,” Alfred said, filling the word with sardonic amusement in a way that Americans could never manage. “I believe that it’s the namesake of a legendary hero of Krypton folktales.”

“That is so cool!”

 

*****

 

More than a decade after Dick’s soulmate tattoo showed up, Dick was living a life that his parents could never have anticipated for him. There had been good times, and times when Dick could barely believe that it was real, like when he first looked down at the Earth from the great windows of the Watchtower, gleaming blue and pristine white like a promise below him. There had been times of trauma and trouble, baseballs bats, blood on the floor, terror. But also elation, when his hawk and his blackbird spread their wings and soared, even as he did the same, those precious moments of flight or freefall between buildings. When he laughed even as he took down two mooks with a jump kick.

Now was one of the worse times. He was basically living in Titan’s Tower, his relationship with Batman strained to the point of fracture, barely seventeen. His legal relationship with Bruce was going to dissolve in less than twelve months, and the A word had never been mentioned since the first social worker basically laughed in their faces, saying that a single man in his twenties with the reputation of a dilettante and playboy - rich or not - would never be approved to adopt a preteen. One who was probably too old to be his biological child. It would be inappropriate. Of course Bruce never tried again, as far as Dick knew, and never brought up adoption again. The couple of times that Dick had tried to talk their relationship, Bruce hastened to assure that no matter what, Bruce would pay for college. College! It was a generous offer, of course. The man didn’t owe him anything, the day Dick turned eighteen.

Still, when Alfred called, Dick picked up. Whatever the situation with Bruce, Dick’s relationship with his grandfather figure had never faltered.

“Master Richard, might I enquire as to when you’ll be returning to the Manor?”

Maybe never, Dick thought uncharitably, even though Alfred’s headmaster's voice reassured him.

“Um, I’m not sure if I’m really welcome right now.”

“Nonsense! I think you’d quite like to meet Master Jason.”

“I don’t think Bruce would want me to, I don’t know, get in the way with bonding with his new son.”

The silence on the other end of the line meant that Alfred was frowning, moustache stiff with disapproval. “None of that now. The adoption has merely been initiated. Master Bruce is also aware that I am making this telephone call.”

Dick noted that Alfred didn’t actually say that Bruce approved of the call, but he’d take what he could get. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. The Titans have been busy lately, but maybe in a few weeks?”

“This Sunday, I should think. I’ll make a beef Wellington.”

Even as Dick’s mouth watered at the thought of Alfred’s cooking, he felt a prickle of suspicion. “What’s the rush?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, you see, Master Dick, I became aware last night of the nature of Master Jason’s tattoos.”

Dick didn’t think it was odd that Jason had been at the Manor for a couple of months so far and Alfred hadn’t seen them yet. Some people were more private about their soul marks, and some animals themselves more shy than others.

Dick’s own hawk constantly moved, and seemed to have a bit of an exhibitionist streak. In fact, Bruce had added long sleeves to the Robin suit because the hawk loved to peak his head past the short sleeve and look around, sometimes hopping down to his forearm to pop his head above the gauntlet - hanging around for hours as if he enjoyed watching Dick take down mooks. Not so conducive for a secret identity. The crow that belonged to his soulmate was less of a hyperactive show-off (Bab’s description), usually staying in the spot above Dick’s heart, but would fly up and down Dick’s arms several times a day.

“Um, interesting?”

“He has a smallish black bird and a larger bird of prey.”

Dick froze, forced himself to swallow, his heart to beat steadily, to breathe. His soulmate! Dick tried not to get too excited. His own raptor remained in frustrating grey-scale, lines still a bit blurry and ill-defined, as did the other bird, so identifying which species exactly was still difficult. Didn’t help that the hawk was never still unless it was asleep, and then it would tuck up small and cover his head with a wing. Besides, black birds were common, and birds of prey not entirely unusual.

Doing his best, and failing, to sound casual, Dick asked, “So, what time Sunday?”

 

*****

 

Their relative ages lined up - Jason was four years younger than Dick, and the animals matched as best as they could tell, given that the exact species of their birds was still unknown. But Jason’s bird - Jason insisted it was a raven - was still very juvenile, and shy, so coaxing it to submit to an examination was difficult. The only way to know for sure if two people were actually soulmates was skin to skin contact - with 7.5 billion people in the world, even matching animals weren’t a guarantee. Because both Dick and Jason’s animal tattoos were immature, they couldn’t even sure that they did match.

Though Alfred hadn’t mentioned that Clark was invited for dinner, Dick wasn’t surprised to see him there. Dick strongly suspected that it was through Clark’s intervention that Dick’s relationship with Bruce wasn’t even worse. At least he had moved on to Nightwing voluntarily when it became clear that the Batman and Robin partnership wasn’t working any longer.

“Uncle Clark, so good to see you again,” Dick said as he got his customary bear hug of greeting. A quick shoulder squeeze from Alfred, and small nod of greeting from Bruce, and then Dick paused awkwardly in front of Jason. They’d met before, once, but hadn’t touched. Hadn’t even sparred. If he was being honest, Dick had been in a little bit of a mood then. Finding out that his father-figure and legal guardian had taken in a new orphan, planned to turn him into Robin (Dick’s mother’s name for him!), and had intentions to legally adopt him all at once had been a lot to take in.

Despite Bruce’s overall neutral opinion of soulmates - that they were nice enough if it worked out but not a huge priority - Dick could feel Bruce’s scrutiny. Clark was grinning in anticipation. Even Alfred, who’d never found his soulmate and professed that he didn’t really see what the whole fuss was about, gazed with interest as Dick held a hand out to Jason to shake.

Dick had worn short sleeves for the occasion. He reached out to Jason, slouched in an oversized red hoodie, and shook his hand.

Nothing happened.

Just to be sure, Dick held on to Jason’s hand for an extra beat. If they were soulmates, Dick’s hawk and Jason’ raven would meet where their skin touched. If the bond was especially strong, then all four marks would meet. Dick’s hawk came winging down Dick’s arm, and Dick held his breath. But the hawk just circled his hand once and headed back to Dick’s shoulder. Jason’s bird didn’t even peek out from underneath Jason’s shirt.

“Ah, that’s that then,” Alfred said. “Never mind. You’re both young, yet. Plenty of time to find the right person. Now I have small appetizers set up in the lounge. Shall we?

Dick told himself that he wasn’t disappointed. Alfred was right - they were both young. Even though Dick knew that his soulmate was about four years younger than him, the reality was he would be happier to meet them when they were both safely legal. Much less awkward that way.

 

*****

 

Dick saw Jason occasionally; he tried to get to the manor at least once a month for a day or two, spend time with all of them, go on patrol. He and Jason never became especially close, but they got along well. Especially when the kid relaxed enough around Dick to talk about his passions - literature, motorcycles, being Robin, really excellent chili dogs. Dick had a purely in good fun fling with Roy, and a slightly more serious relationship with Wally. He got involved with Kori, who never got a soul mark at all.

Dick relaxed into being Nightwing and it no longer hurt to see Jason in his family colors.

And then Jason died.

Dick missed the funeral.

 

*****

 

Some months after Dick got back to Earth, he woke up to the sensation of one of his marks thrashing and flailing across Dick’s skin. He flipped the light on and peeled off his shirt to look.

It wasn’t unusual for his hawk to be awake when Dick slept, but Dick couldn’t remember the mark ever moving frenetically enough to wake Dick up. Despite that, Dick was surprised to see that sensation was coming from the bondmark he’d had since he was four, not the hawk. The adorable but shy black bird writhed and flinched, little eyes squinted in pain. Dick watched helplessly. He still hadn’t found his bondmate, but they were in danger. Injured, sick, maybe even dying. Dick reached for his phone - maybe he could call Barbara. Bruce. Tim.

He dropped his hand when the bondmark’s struggles escalated, wings buffeting against unseen forces. Since he’d never met his soulmate, Dick couldn’t sense their feelings; for a short selfish moment that made Dick feel sick, he felt glad the bond had never formed. He didn’t really want to experience what seemed to be mortal agony, much less whatever terror and other emotions they must be feeling.

Even if Dick called Superman, he knew he was already too late.

The crow’s thrashing slowed, then stopped.

Dick turned off the light.

He sat for hours unmoving in the dark.

His soulmate was dead.

They hadn’t even met.

 

*****

 

The small crow of his bondmark didn’t move again. It looked like a normal greyscale tattoo of a crow in flight, wings wide spread but frozen above Dick’s heart. Dick couldn’t mourn a person he’d never met, but sometimes he grieved for the loss of possibility. Something precious had been taken from him, before he’d even had a chance to see it.

Kori and Dick broke up, after almost getting married. It was rough for a while, but they ended up being friends. Not as close as before, but they were strong. Kori was the first to notice that the gray markings on Dick’s hawk were slowly turning blue, his beak yellow with a blue tip, eyes bright amber, but Barbara was the one who identified the bird as a Chilean blue eagle. Despite the name, it wasn’t a “true” eagle, but the real life animals were huge for hawks. Many of them had black or greyish markings, but some of the males had the stunning blue tone that Dick’s bird was developing.

Kori was also the first to notice that the crow was slowly starting to move again, about six months after dying. Though it seemed it had never died in the first place. All of the experts that Dick consulted - and he even unbent enough to ask Bruce to help him research - agreed that there must be a reasonable explanation for what happened. Coma was the most plausible suggestion, and there were a few documented cases of something similar happening to others. Raven suggested that Dick’s soulmate had gone to an astral plane and then returned. Other reasonable hypotheses included some kind of major life upheaval, or mental breakdown, or even their heart stopping but then being restarted. Until and unless Dick found his soulmate, they wouldn’t know for sure. Dick hated thinking of them going through such a terrible trauma alone, but at least they weren’t dead.

The crow’s personality changed too, over the years. One day Dick noticed that it’s eyes glowed green. He liked to terrify Tim with it sometimes.

The crow also grew larger, its movements sure and strong, wing beats bold and swift. No longer a juvenile in any way, the crow seemed fierce and vibrant, with a glittering intelligence in its flight patterns and sharp face.

Dick hoped it meant that his soulmate was thriving.

Dick got together with Barbara, then they broke up. Then a rooftop in the rain, and Blockbuster, and a gang war in Gotham, and Dick got shot in the thigh and passed out for a few days. When he woke up, Alfred told him that Steph was dead and Babs was gone. Dick’s life was an empty, derelict shell, just like his apartment building in Bludhaven. Dick was barely back on his feet again in both senses of the word when Bruce called him for help with Gotham - a new villain showed up calling himself the Red Hood.

 

*****

 

Nightwing arrived just in time to save Batman’s ass from Amazo, then they chased Red Hood through a train yard. Red Hood blew up a train to buy some time, and escaped.

“Why does there always have to be an explosion?” Nightwing quipped. They had avoided the worst of the blast and Nightwing narrowly avoided reinjuring his stupid leg. Batman helped him stand and surveyed him with narrowed eyes.

“You’re still off your game. Head back to the cave.”

“I’m not leaving you. This guy clearly has some kind of personal grudge against you, and he’s good. I’m fine.”

Batman’s grip on Dick’s arm didn’t withdraw, but he allowed Dick to shake his hand off. Dick took a few steps to show that he could move without impediment. “See? I had the wind knocked out of me but the leg’s okay.”

Batman growled but didn’t press any further. “Come on, then. I think he’s heading towards Ace Chemicals.”

Nightwing fell in step beside Batman as they headed to the rooftop to follow Red Hood. “Isn’t that where the Joker got his start? Fell into a vat of chemicals?”

“Rumored to be, yes.”

“What do you think the Red Hood is doing here?”

“Let’s find out.”

 

*****

 

Batman and Nightwing chased Red Hood through the factory, dodged between smoking vats and gleaming stainless tanks over twenty feet tall. Even with bat-training, their footsteps echoed, bouncing off of the metal vessels. Red Hood was fast and agile for a big guy - he wasn’t quite as tall as B but Dick wouldn’t be shocked if Hood outweighed the bat. Out of the three of them, Dick was the fastest. He shot his grapple to a catwalk above them and swung over Hood in an effort to trap Hood between the two bats. It was a good strategy, but the catwalk cracked and broke as Dick released the line. No one could follow that way.

Hood pushed a bubbling vat over to block Batman’s path. B dodged back from the corrosive liquid, but some of the acid splashed back towards Hood, catching his gloved hands and forearms. The ever-expanding puddle of acid blocked Batman off from the criminal, but also Dick. Hood whirled and ran in a third direction.

“Nightwing, pursue from your side and I’ll circle back.”

“Will do.”

Dick followed Hood through the factory and into an even-larger warehouse, with towering shelves and high ceilings. He slowed to move with caution through the maze, escrima sticks held ready.

A flash of movement glimpsed between shelves. Dick followed, this time on noiseless feet.

Hood was well-trained. He spun when Dick was just feet away, aiming. Dick knocked the gun out of his hand with a blow from one of his escrima. Hood charged.

Red Hood had taken his acid-eaten gloves off, which made sense. His hands didn’t look burned, which Dick noticed even as he dodged them.

Without the guns, Hood fought like a brawler. A skilled, fast, accurate brawler. He wasn’t completely devoid of tells though. The fight was a draw at least initially. Hood coped well with Dick’s fast, acrobatic style, in a way that even well-trained fighters rarely managed. Just a slight movement across the guy’s chest and shoulders told Dick that a punch was coming. He swayed back but not quickly enough. Snap of the guy’s shoulders and hips, rotating through at speed, fist clenched at the last moment, connected with Dick’s jaw. He staggered back, almost falling on his ass.

It was a great punch. But Dick could take a hit, and he dodged the worst of it. He couldn’t explain why he felt so woozy.

Dick had become so used to his hawk’s near constant movement over the years that he usually ignored it, unless the hawk was being especially energetic. And the hawk seemed to get that when Dick was fighting, a distraction could be disastrous. So Dick, already dizzy, was shocked to feel powerful wing beats across his skin, up his torso, his neck, until the hawk reached his jaw, right where he’d been hit.

Dick backed up. He stared at Hood, who instead of pressing his advantage was rubbing his fist with his other hand.

The pain on his jaw intensified and focused, delineating into hot stinging needles in his skin, crawling and writhing, and Dick realized he’d felt this pain before. Over twenty years ago. Soul mark.

His soulmate was the Red Hood. The criminal, the murderer, the gang lord. Severed heads in a duffel. Dick’s heart stuttered and shattered in his chest.

If any doubt remained, it crumbled when Dick felt the crow stir from its customary place on his left pec and fly once around his chest, as if it sensed the presence of its other half nearby.

Red Hood sunk to his knees, presumably in the same kind of pain that Dick was in, not to mention the emotional turmoil. A spark of humor flared - the criminal probably wasn’t any more thrilled to find out that his soulmate was a superhero than the reverse.

The bond unfurled into existence, like a limp hanging flag caught in a sudden gust of wind. Nothing, and then snap. Color and patterns and sensations flared. Feelings.

Dick felt them like he felt his own emotions, but with a distinct flavor of otherness. Just enough that he could tell that the rage and burning loss wasn’t Dick’s.

He knew one thing. Hood couldn’t kill him - not with such a newly created bond, still raw like a wound between them - without risking killing himself from the backlash and trauma. In time, they would learn to control it, to step away from the feelings enough to create distance, but it would take time. Until then, every feeling would be doubled and redoubled across the link.

Dick straightened and pulled off his glove, took a few cautious steps forward. He reached out to Red Hood. For a moment, the criminal didn’t move, head tilted in a way that suggested he was staring at Dick’s face, trying to read whatever he could from his expression behind the mask. He had an advantage over Dick - Dick couldn’t see a single inch of the other man’s skin except his trembling hands. Dick watched them clench and unclench once, then the right hand reached up and took Dick’s own hand.

Dick’s hawk immediately reacted - wings snapped back and he stooped, diving down to Dick’s hand. Dick felt the crow moving with more caution, but started to spiral down Dick’s arm. Dick watched in an uncomfortable boil of awe and fear and trepidation as he saw the mirror image of his own hawk peek out of Red Hood’s sleeve and fly across the back of his hand to rest where their hands touched. Seconds later, Red Hood’s own soul mark joined the others, and Dick started when he realized that it wasn’t a crow. A raven. He’d been wrong this whole time.

The raven on Red Hood’s hand leaned into the space where their hands met and pressed its brow against Dick’s hawk. Then the hawk on Red Hood joins them, followed by the raven on Dick. The four birds - bodies stretched across the backs of the men’s hands - nuzzled each other, with small wing flaps and hops of contentment.

The moment lasted just seconds, and yet Dick felt stretch to the end of time and back. Then, breaking the spell, as if they were reacting to a signal perceptible to only them, the soulmarks took flight at the same instant. All four bird tattoos flew around their joined hands, not crossing over on the other’s skin but skirting the edge. The birds’ wings brush occasionally each other, wingtip to wingtip. Dick stared in awe at the beauty, the grace, the elegant spiralling forms.

Only in the closest and strongest of bonds could the marks move from one body the other at the point of contact, and then only in moments of intense emotion. Still, to have the four living tattoos so active, at a first meeting, for all them to touch each other - it was a sign of a powerful bond. He struggled to process that it was a bond with the person he’d just been trying to beat up. And was also trying to beat Dick up.

Too much to take in. Dick dropped Red Hood’s hand, and though his palm was dry he rubbed it against his suit anyway.

“Where do you we go from here? I don’t suppose you’re going to let me arrest you now?” Dick said lightly, attempting and almost managing to hide the gruffness in his voice.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Red Hood drawled. “This is not how I wanted to reveal my identity.” He sounded sardonic, amused, maybe a vein of frustration there too.

“You’re going to show me your face?” That was something Dick hadn’t considered yet, in the entire two minutes he’d had to think this through so far. Nightwing wasn’t sure if he wanted to reciprocate - was he ready to share his own identity with a crime lord?

For a moment, Hood stood frozen, and Dick thought he really was about to reveal himself. Finally, the voice rasped through the modulator, “I don’t think so, Nightwing.”

Dick never should have let his guard down, even a little. Hood crashed a foot into the side of Dick’s bad knee - and how did he know - and ran as Dick dropped to the floor.

Dick tried to stand but his knee refused to bear his weight.

Moments ago, Dick felt he could separate his own feelings from those of his soulmate. But now all he felt was a torrent of sensations, and he couldn’t tell what belonged to him, what belonged to Red Hood, what was merely mirror images bouncing and bouncing between the two. Pain, anger, panic, denial. A burning neediness.

Two hearts hammering against two sternums, four sets of wings beating, unable to take to the sky and fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Bruce visit the Joker, hoping for clues about the identity of the mysterious Red Hood. Meanwhile, Dick keeps his new knowledge that the Red Hood is Dick's soulmate to himself. Dick's soulmate tattoos and brand new soul bond both help and further confuse matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuses except that writing is hard, but I am sorry this took well over a year. I hope it's worth the wait, though. Maybe skim the first chapter to review, because this chapter picks up right where the first left off.

Less than a minute after Red Hood escaped, Batman found Dick sitting ignominiously on the floor. Before Batman could stop, Dick gestured him on. “I’m fine - go after him!”

Bruce gave Dick one sharp nod and raced off in the direction that Dick had indicated, leaving Dick attempting to parse the sensory overload of suddenly having twice as many feelings as usual - his own plus his soulmate’s. The conglomeration of emotions, at least half of which weren’t even his, eroded his sense of self. A rage burning pure and strong, unquenchable. A weird hint of volatility, instability, that crackled and buzzed. An unbridled hunger to accomplish . . . something. Dick couldn't get the thoughts behind the feelings - soul bonds were purely empathic. 

Dick wondered what Red Hood was receiving from Dick. Pain from the stupid knee, a sick churning in Dick’s gut, queasy and raw. Bitterness that he’d finally met his soulmate, and he was a bad guy. A murdering drug lord kind of guy. The irony was like soured wine. 

Dick stewed in the mess of emotions that only half belonged to him until Bruce came back about ten minutes later, alone. Somehow Dick wasn’t surprised that even B hadn’t been able to find Hood. There was a calculating intelligence and determination in the bond. Red Hood was no easy mark.

Batman reached a hand out and Dick allowed himself to be assisted to his feet. The ten minutes of rest were enough to allow him to put a little weight on his bad leg. 

“Now what?”

Bruce grunted.

Back to the Batmobile then.

 

******

 

Despite the situation, Dick chuckled when B pulled out an exact replica of the specific knee brace Dick had been using up until recently, eased it on, and then cracked a couple of instant cold packs and handed them to Dick. B is such a dad. Batman would deny it, of course, but that didn’t make it less true.

The foreign emotions surged as Dick felt fondness towards Bruce. Anger, disbelief, maybe bitter resentment? Dick wondered if his soulmate had daddy issues. 

“We will be back in the cave in fifteen minutes,” Batman said gruffly. 

“We don’t need to go back. I’m fine.” Fine except for feeling a shit-ton of emotions that didn’t even belong to him, but Dick was a master of compartmentalizing. Ignore, ignore, ignore and keep putting one foot in front of other. 

Dick felt his heart pounding, and it took a moment to realize it was his soulmate’s heart. He was running? Or scared? Dick couldn’t tell - just a fast rat tat tat pulse with the same BPM as “Staying Alive.” 

A muscle pulsed once in Batman’s jaw, so tiny that only someone who really knew him and was watching for the sign would see it. “You aren’t chasing Hood like that.”

“We have no clue where he’d go. We don’t know anything about him. I’m not proposing chasing him right now - we need to do some good old fashioned detective work.” Dick felt a phantom stitch in his side - yep, the Red Hood was definitely running. 

“Hrn.”

“So far, our biggest clue is that the Red Hood must have some kind of history or obsession with the Joker. He led us here, rumored to be where the Joker bleached his skin with acid, so basically the location of the genesis of the Joker persona.” The feeling that half of himself was over-exerting eased, and a curl of satisfaction came through the link. Dick still felt like he was on the highwire, but as long as he kept moving forward, he could keep his balance.

“So I need to go pay a visit to the Joker.”

“Almost right, boss. Like, 85% correct.”

A muscle next to Batman’s lip twitched.

“Don’t feel bad, it’s still a solid B. But the full answer is that I’m going with you.” Needling Batman was one of Dick’s favorite hobbies. It was enough to distract him from the worst of the confusing sensations he was getting from his new soulbond, and for a moment he could have sworn he felt amusement. 

“Not with that leg, you’re not.”

Dick rolled his eyes, knowing that Batman could read the gesture through the mask. Years of practice, after all. “B, I’ve been going around Gotham and the ‘Haven with a knee brace on for the last six weeks. No one is going to think it’s weird that it’s still on. Hood just jarred it a bit - get me an Advil and I’m good to go.”

“Hmngh.”

“I’m fluent in bat-gruntese. That just means that you’re worried about me and you can’t bear to say it out loud. No worries, boss. I’m just as invested in finding out who is under the helmet as you are-” more than Bruce, probably, given that Dick had just found out that they’re soulmates- “but it’s not worth permanently injuring myself for. If I thought it was serious, I’d head back to the Cave without a peep.”

Dick needed to focus on the next step of the investigation. The familiar wrappings of logic and deduction would help him keep his mind clear, and satisfy his burning desire to figure out the identity of his soulmate. 

The muscle near B’s mouth twitched again, but up this time. A small smile, for Batman in the cowl. “Knowing you, you’d still peep.”

Dick held up his hands in surrender. “You got me. I’d squawk the whole way, but I’d still go. But I’ve just tweaked it a bit - it’s sore but not reinjured. Let’s just hit Arkham first, no fighting, no deep knee bends, and I’ll promise I’ll keep the pirouettes to a minimum. Interview the Joker, and then straight back to the Cave.”

Dick hoped like hell that Bruce would buy his act as the blank white lenses of the cowl bored into him, looking for any signs that Dick was dissembling, and of course he was. He was tap dancing so fast that Gene Kelley had nothing on him. But Dick couldn’t drop the matter - he had to pursue any lead that could shed some light on the identity of his soulmate, and he was way too anxious to wait. Imagining heading home while Bruce continued to investigate was torture. He needed to find out who the Red Hood was - who his soulmate was.

Finally, Bruce gave a short, sharp nod. “Keep those ice packs on during the ride.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“And keep the leg elevated.”

“How?”

Instead of answering, Bruce toggled a switch on the console and Dick’s chair slid backwards. B didn’t even try to hide his smirk. 

“Funny,” Dick griped. His soulmate’s heart was now steady and calm, and Dick got feelings of protection and relief. He’d made it to a safe place, then. As much as the guy was a criminal, Dick felt grateful that Red Hood hadn’t been captured by the police. Dick wanted to be the one to apprehend him, if only so they could talk first. A name would be good too. 

Bruce hit another button and seatbelts sprang out the seats and wrapped themselves around both of them. “I’m hilarious.”

 

*****

 

On the drive to Arkham Asylum, Batman no doubt used the time to review interrogation techniques and remember everything he’d ever learned about the Joker, especially any little clues about his mysterious origin. 

Dick knew that he should probably be doing that too, but instead he tried to sort through the tumult of emotions. It was like two rivers meeting in a narrow canyon, twin torrents crashing into each other. Churning white water, crashing over hidden rocks. Dick needed to figure out a way to calm the rapids, or at least learn to ignore them, otherwise he wasn’t going to be of any use speaking to the Joker. Dick imagined taking all of the feelings flowing from the bond and building a dam around them, picturing it thick and solid, until the intensity of the feelings abated into a trickle. 

The guards led Batman and Nightwing through the arched corridors of the decrepit Victorian building, past crumbling plaster and ancient tiled floors. Harsh fluorescent lights tried to fight against the gloom, but the fixtures were spaced too far apart for effective illumination. Instead, they paced through spots of unforgiving brightness, then darkness, over and over again. The high security wings benefited the most from modernization, with floor to ceiling bulletproof glass serving as the wall facing into the hallway. The inmates had no privacy at all - even the toilets were bolted to the wall and exposed. The windows at the back were filled in with cinder block, except for a series of small holes drilled along the top, allowing tiny shafts of light to pierce the gloom. As the small group passed each cell, the inhabitants screeched imprecations, cowered into the corners, hid under the bed, or banged the walls in futile anger. Batman ignored it all, cape sweeping along behind him as he stared straight ahead. 

At the Joker’s cell, the guards backed up to give Batman and Nightwing the illusion of privacy, but stayed within listening distance. Joker stood up from his place on the bed, rising onto his toes as he performed an elaborate stretch before taking mincing steps towards them. He grinned as if a visit from Batman and Nightwing was the number one thing on his Christmas list, and Christmas had just come early. B loomed on their side of the bulletproof glass, making himself appear even taller and larger than normal. “Joker. Tell me what you know about Red Hood.”

“And why should I? Are you going to give me a treat? A peppermint? A gummy worm? A chocolate chip cookie?”

“Answer my question or I’ll come in there and make you,” Batman growled. 

“Oh I see how it is. You’re going to threaten me with violence until I cooperate. How about a knuckle sandwich? Oooh or a finger sandwich. Tasty.” The Joker tittered at his own rather pathetic joke, smile eerie in the half-light. “Mmmmm, tiny little fingers. Don’t worry about the bones, I think they add a nice crunch.”

Dick had years of experience listening to the Joker’s disturbed ranting, but he still shook his head in disgust. He suppressed his atavistic reaction as best he could, yet, as always, the hairs on the back of his neck raised, his stomach churned, and he wanted to wash his hands. The Joker always exuded a creepy sense of wrongness, like black mold ready to contaminate whatever came too close.

Dick swallowed his disgust. “Cut it out,” he snapped. “Answer the question.”

“Oh, the pretty bird does still have his tongue. I thought you were just standing there to look nice while daddy Bats asks the mean man questions.”

Something stirred on the other side of the bond, despite the mental dam Dick had tried to erect. Questioning, as if the Red Hood sensed Dick’s unease and wanted to know the cause. 

“We came here to find out what you know about the man running around Gotham using your old alias. Tell us what you know and we might be able to pull a few strings, make your stay just a bit more comfortable.”

“Or,” Batman said, “if you don’t cooperate, we can make you a lot less comfortable.” Batman had no patience for the Joker since Jason’s murder almost killing the Joker in retribution, stopped only by Clark’s intervention. Losing Jason had devastated B in such a way that was nearly unrecoverable, the specter of the lost son draining the color out of every facet of life since the tragedy. 

The Joker giggled some more. “I just want to talk about birds today. I think they’re one of your favorite things, given how you surround yourself with them. So many innocent little birds.”

Batman slammed his hand against the glass. “I’m not here to talk about Robin or Nightwing. Any of my partners.” 

“Oh but you’re not? I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Joker cackled like he’s just told the best joke of the night. “All the little birds, so sweet. Tweet tweet. You do love your Robins so much, don’t you? Lovely, fragile birds, especially the second one.”

“Joker,” Batman said. Dick glanced at his mentor, hearing Bruce’s confusion and anger at the mention of Jason in the low hiss of B’s voice. Joker had murdered Jason five years ago, and while he’d taunted them about the death plenty of times before, as the years passed, those taunts became rarer. 

“What was his name? How he made me laugh at his sad little chirps when I used my crowbar.”

“I’ll make your life a living hell!” B growled, banging the glass again. 

Dick squared his shoulders and straightened his spine to prevent his body automatically withdrawing from revulsion. Ever since the Joker had killed Jason, Dick felt so much anger and disgust around him that he had to work hard to keep a clear head, and not let any of his feelings show. His reaction to the Joker had only deteriorated since the time he’d taunted Nightwing about killing Robin - both Tim and Jason - and Dick had snapped, beating him with bare hands until he’d stopped breathing. Dick remembered the satisfying crunch of the Joker’s nose flattening under his fist. Alarm thrummed along the soulbond, as the Red Hood no doubt felt Dick’s disgust and anger. 

“Focus, Joker. Maybe the Red Hood is someone you knew when you were first starting out?” Dick asked in a bid to regain some control of this fractured conversation. A surge of realization flared across the link, like his soulmate had recognized what was making Dick feel that way. 

“Ah! Nightwing!” The Joker llicked his lips. “I see your little birdy. I’ve seen it before, of course - it’s how I knew who you were when you changed costumes - but I haven’t seen it in a long time. So striking. Such a beautiful shade of blue.”

Dick thought about covering his face but decided that the damage was done. Joker had seen the bird tattoo, and it was true that he’d seen it before. And Dick didn’t want the Joker to think he’d scored a point somehow by making Dick hide his tattoos. 

The hawk almost never flew onto his face, especially when Dick was dressed as Nightwing, but he’d been agitated ever since the meeting with Dick’s soulmate earlier this evening. Just another sign of the control Dick was losing over this night - his whole life - piece by piece. 

The bond sent Red Hood’s abhorrence and a feeling of urgency, almost panic. Dick did his best to ignore what he was receiving through the link. Those emotions don’t belong to me, he reminded himself. 

“Answer us, Joker,” Bruce gritted out, looming closer against the glass. 

Dick shifted so that Joker couldn’t get a good look at his hawk anymore. “I bet you’d like a nice hot meal, instead of the usual slop they serve here. How does that sound?” he asked.

 

“Oh, this is much more interesting. Have you met your soulmate yet? Oh, pardon me, that’s kind of a personal question. I’ll tell you something private in exchange. I bet you think Harley is my soulmate. But she isn't. Oh no. She has someone else and I have no one! No one is good enough for little old me!”

“Joker, I am not here to discuss soulmates or birds or soulmate markings. Just tell us what you know about the Red Hood,” Batman growled, while Dick felt both his hawk and his soulmate’s bird flap their wings far more quickly than usual.

“You don’t know what you’re here to talk about. You don’t have a clue. I know more than you-oo.” Joker launched into a singsong playground taunt. “I know more than you-oo.” To the same tune, he continued, “Nightwing has a soul-mate, Nightwing has a soul-mate.”

“Can it, Joker,” Dick snapped. His bond mark, the black bird, had been circling Dick’s torso, but now it spiraled up Dick’s neck. It’s speed increased, perhaps in agitation. It peeked out behind the cover of Dick’s hair, probably glaring at the Joker, and Dick hoped the bird’s green glowing eyes bothered him. 

No such luck - Joker kept singing. “Nightwing and Red Hood sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” Dick shifted, uncomfortable. Was the line about the Red Hood just the ramblings of a madman, or had the Joker somehow known that Red Hood and Nightwing were soulmates? 

The black bird stilled for a moment on Dick’s jaw, then flew down the back of Dick’s neck as fast as Dick had ever felt him move. Terror, anger, and loathing came through the bond.

“Quiet!” Batman shouted, banging on the glass again. Dick crossed his arms and glared. 

Dick’s hawk finally left his cheek, where he’d been spiralling, to fold his wings back and dive. The hawk plummeted down Dick’s back to join the black bird, circling the other bird as if offering support. 

The soulbond vibrated with a mixture of fury and fear. Leave, it seemed to say. Get out of there. Get away from him.

“But I have no one! I have no soulmate. I never got a mark,” the Joker said. Dick felt a thrill of relief - the Joker didn’t deserve a soulmate, and Dick would have pitied whoever had the misfortune to be bonded to him. 

“Let’s go, Nightwing. We’re not going to get anything more out of his when he’s like this.”

Batman spun on his heel with a billow of his cape and paced down the hall. Dick followed, but not before casting a glance back at the Joker, still singing and chuckling to himself. 

With each step away from the cell, the bond quieted. Whatever else he’d learned, Dick at least knew that his soulmate both despised and was terrified of the Joker. The Red Hood relaxed as the distance between Dick and the Joker increased. Interesting. Who is the man under the helmet, and why did he take on a former alias of the Joker if he hated and feared the rogue so much? 

****

Back at the Batcave, Dick couldn’t quite manage to suppress a yelp of pain as Alfred removed the boot from his bad leg. It hurt nearly as much as the kick had, Dick thought sourly. Dick was way too new to the soul bond to send deliberate feelings through the link, much less the near perfect communication some bonded pairs managed, but he hoped that his soulmate felt at least some of the pain. Would serve him right for kicking Dick in the first place. 

To his surprise, Dick felt a wave of contrition and he knew it wasn’t coming from himself. Did the Red Hood actually feel bad about injuring Dick, or was it simple regret that some of the pain was being sent his way? No way to know for sure, but Dick wanted to think it was the former. He’d cling on to any scrap of evidence to show that there was more to Red Hood than someone who used a bag full of severed heads as a negotiation strategy. Like it or not, they were now bonded forever.

After Alfred took x-rays and tutted and fussed to his satisfaction and strapped up Dick’s knee, he handed Dick a pair of crutches. “I do expect you to make use of them, Master Richard,” he said.

Dick sighed, noted the use of his full name instead Dick and knew that meant that Alfred was pissed. He wasn’t going to win this one. With a rueful duck of his head, he accepted the crutches made his way over to where Bruce sat in front of the main computer. He had the cowl off, but still wore the rest of the suit. 

“I am about to review the footage of our little chat with the Joker,” Bruce explained as Dick sat down.

“Oh fabulous. Glad I didn’t miss it.”

They watched the video in silence until Batman said that he wasn’t there to talk about any of his partners. “Zoom in on his face when he talks,” Dick said. Bruce complied and Dick stared at the Joker as he made the crack that Bruce didn’t know what he wanted to talk about.

“He’s smirking,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, even more than normal. Like he knows something we don’t and he’s gloating about it.”

“Why did he keep talking about you?”

“It wasn’t just me. He talked about Robin and birds in general, and soulmarks.”

“His claim that he never developed any soulmarks at all is interesting, if it’s true. It’s possible that whatever he did to bleach his skin obliterated them, but he might be telling the truth.”

“So he doesn’t have a soulmate? What does that have to do with the Red Hood? And he’s never shown particular interest in Tim, so why did he bring up Robin so many times?”

“Not Tim, specifically. Robin.”

There was only one Robin that had such a strong link to the Joker. Dick licked his lips and hesitated before speaking. “Do you think he was referring to Jason?”

As always, any mention of the dead Robin had Bruce’s face grow even more still and solemn. “It’s possible,” he said. “He kept on bringing the conversation back to birds, and when we tried to get him to talk about Red Hood instead, he insisted that we didn’t know what we really wanted to talk about.”

“So there’s some link between the Red Hood and the Joker, which we already knew because Red Hood was one of Joker’s aliases, and Hood lead us to Acme Chemicals, the site where rumor has it Joker became the Joker we know now.”

“Correct.”

Dick sighed in frustration because he really wanted to pace. “Joker seemed to be mocking us with the fact that there’s a link between Robins and the Red Hood,” he said slowly, thinking out loud. “We asked about Red Hood, and he just talked about Robin instead, and then when we said we didn’t want to talk about Robin, but Red Hood, he implied that we didn’t know what we asking.”

“He’s trying to link the Red Hood to Jason.”

Dick felt a flare of anger - his own anger this time, not his soulmate’s. “Well, that’s a weird thing for him to do, even for the Joker. Jason is dead, and no one knows that better than the Joker. He was his killer, after all.” All of this felt true and correct, but even as he spoke it out loud, Dick recalled the surge of emotions from the Red Hood while they’d been in the asylum. His soulmate detested and feared the Joker, and had been very uncomfortable when Dick was so close. 

“The Joker embodies malice and chaos. Sometimes it’s impossible to know his motives.”

“True, but it’s like he was implying that Red Hood knew Jason.” That would explain why the Red Hood hated the Joker. Another thought struck Dick - a disturbing, repellant thought. “Is he hinting that Red Hood is Jason? That’s impossible. And bizarre. Why would he try to do that?”

“Jason’s dead. I buried him.”

“I know.” And then quietly, thinking about the freckled boy they’d lost too soon, “I’m sorry.”

Bruce pressed a few keys and surveillance recordings of Red Hood play, running across rooftops, grappling from building to building. Bruce watched the videos in silence for a moment, the undeniable skill, before saying, “Whoever he is, he’s trained. And trained well.”

Dick looked at the black bird currently hanging out on his left elbow, remembering Jason stamping his feet and protesting, It’s a raven, Dickie! Something clicked into place in Dick’s mind, like the first pin tumblr of a lock setting into place when being picked. 

He remembered the night his bond mark died, his initial panic and then numb grief. Six months later it started to move again, as if resurrected. How its eyes glowed a supernatural shade of green in the darkness, eerie and otherworldly. There are more things in heaven and earth. So many things even educated people cannot explain. What was once dead may perhaps live again. Dick shivered as another pin clicked open. 

Dick rolled his shoulders, making both birds startle, and tried to muster his thoughts into some kind of logical order. Jason had a black bird and a bird of prey, just like Dick. The marks bore enough similarity that Alfred had suspected they might be soulmates, but juvenile marks were still indistinct. When they’d first touched - and all of the other times they’d had skin-to-skin contact before Jason died - nothing happened with the bond. So Jason couldn’t be Dick’s soulmate, and the Red Hood was, so Jason couldn’t be the Red Hood. 

Dick thought of all the people the Red Hood had killed, the trail of blood he’d left behind, and he felt like he was about to fall. 

He glanced at the raven, who tilted his head and looked back at Dick with glimmering green eyes. The bird nodded, twice, and then launched himself up and into flight. 

The raven had died and come back. The Red Hood hated the Joker. The raven had been terrified of the Joker. Dick had touched the Red Hood and his marks reacted. Had the raven needed to die and come back before it was the right match? Had Jason died and come back to life as the Red Hood? Such a thing shouldn’t be possible.

Yet such a thing had happened. 

The lock sprang open in Dick’s mind. He could hardly believe his own conclusion. His stomach churned like it had been left behind at the top of a roller coaster drop, yet behind his breastbone, a cool, crystalline hollow he’d never noticed before vibrated in recognition.

Between jumping off a building and firing his grapple, there was a moment when the world stopped. When gravity seemed both inconsequential and yet inevitable, when for a split second he was free of the rules of physics, the promises he’d made, the laws and realities of his life. Sometimes it felt like he’d left his stomach on the roof of the building, he should be petrified, but he knows he won’t plummet to his death. There’s just his body, that he’s perfectly in control of, and a split second that is both not enough and more than he needs. He’s got all of the time in the world. It feels right. 

That moment was the only time Dick Grayson truly felt like a superhero.

Dick felt like that now. He should be terrified - his soulmate is a criminal, a murderer - yet he feels like he’s flying. His soulmate is Jason. Jason is the Red Hood. His soulmate died and came back. Came back to him. 

It’s an illogical conclusion, but it’s true. The raven stretched his wings and soared, rhythmic beats propelling him up Dick’s arm, across his chest, stopping above his sternum, wheeling around and around the skin there. Dick slapped a hand over the bird. He knows his bondmark is telling him that he’s right. His disbelief is like gravity - for this one incredible, impossible moment, it doesn’t apply. 

The soulbond hummed, resonating with the rightness of Dick’s unbelievable verdict, like a wine glass singing. 

“Bruce, I don’t think Jason is dead.”

The hawk shook its feathers and launched off its perch, wings beating, mouth opening as it let out a shriek Dick can’t hear but still felt. The hawk joined the raven under Dick’s hand, and he felt them spiral together in synchronised flight through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Jason is alive and he’s Red Hood.”

Bruce turned in his chair to make eye contact with Dick, eyes wide, mouth hard. Jason can not possibly be the man who put heads in a bag and used them to become a drug lord. But Dick saw a glimmer of recognition in Bruce’s eyes too, as a video of Red Hood twisting in mid air and cutting the grapple line plays on the screen. 

One revelation at a time, Dick thought. Telling Bruce that Jason is Red Hood is enough - maybe even too much - for Bruce for now. He dropped his hand down to his side. 

Dick and Bruce stared at each other, the shock bleeding out between them. 

Bruce swiped the keyboard off the desk, violent and quick, and it landed on the floor with a crash.

The sound echoed through the cave, vast and empty. The bats were out hunting for the night, but they would return before dawn. 

“Go to bed, Nightwing. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Dick knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of Bruce tonight. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Bruce might not believe him yet, but that didn’t matter. The hollow spot in Dick’s chest wasn’t empty any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As befits a chapter update months and months in the making, I wouldn't have been able to finish without the help of my amazing betas - Airdanteine, Pentapus and Stevieraebarnes! Thank you all so much. Thanks as well to the entire Jaydick discord, for being such an awesome and supportive community in general, and helping me troubleshoot the last couple of pages specifically. I love all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the Romani words from Learn Romani by Ronald Lee. Any errors are mine. 
> 
> Daj - mother  
> Gugli - sweetie, sweetheart  
> Múndro - wonderful  
> Drágo - darling  
> Shav - son
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://volaviwrites.tumblr.com/). You can yell at me about the cliffhanger. I'll post the second chapter as soon as I can.


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